


Garden-variety Training

by charmedward



Series: Critical Role Rarepair Week 2016 [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Families of Choice, Gen, Greyskull Keep, Grog and Keyleth solve their problems with violence, Mama bird Percy, No Spoilers, critrolerarepair, pre-stream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 17:50:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7448428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmedward/pseuds/charmedward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Critical Role Rarepair week. Day 1: Non-romantic pairing. </p><p>It’s the middle of the afternoon when Grog finds Keyleth crying in the grounds of Greyskull Keep. </p><p>Set before the events of Kraghammer in episode one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Garden-variety Training

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aloysius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aloysius/gifts).



> Hey look at that, my first Critical Role fanfic! And it doesn't include either of my OTPs! Still, this fic was pretty fun to write. I loved the idea of exploring Grog and Keyleth's friendship and I have to say, I hope we get some more Grog and Keyleth interaction soon.
> 
> I want to thank my Sarenbae, Aloysius, for beta'ing this fic for me. Catch up soon, friend! The last episode was great ;)

It’s the middle of the afternoon when Grog finds Keyleth crying in the grounds of Greyskull Keep. 

He’d been on the lookout for a suitable spot to train in the summer sunshine, but the soft sobbing emanating from behind a tree had caught his attention. Rounding the body of it, he comes to a standstill. 

“Er, Keyleth. You’re crying.”

Seeing Keyleth’s red rimmed eyes and tear stained cheeks, Grog finds his mind going blank. Keyleth is sat with her back to the tree, knees pulled up to her chin – the universal sign of defeat. Judging by the state she’s in, she’s been here a while. Grog stands awkwardly, unsure of what to do with himself as the slender girl sniffs and wipes her face with the back of her hand.

“Hey Grog. Sorry.” She offers him a watery smile. Grog isn’t sure what she’s apologising for. “You come out here to work on your tan?”

Considering the great axe in his hand, Grog doesn’t feel the need to immediately respond. Instead he glances over his shoulder to be sure that they’re alone. Satisfied, he props his axe against the tree and squats down next to the druid. Keyleth is apparently not expecting a reply from him, her gaze off in the distance. It worries Grog. He thinks Pike would go for a hug, or even a friendly hand on the shoulder, but he and Keyleth don’t have that kind of relationship. In truth, Keyleth is probably the one party member Grog knows the least about. 

“Can I- do you want me to get Pike? Or Vex?” The offer sounds weak even to his ears. He steels himself and tried again, “Maybe Trinket? Petting him might make you feel better.”  
Keyleth smiles again and fresh tears break free. She shakes her head. “No I’m- I’m okay. Thanks.”

Grog levels her with a look he likes to call his “that’s bullshit, Scanlan” look. In return he gets a helpless shrug before Keyleth breaks eye contact again and stares down at the ground. Grog notices then that the grass around Keyleth is teeming with colourful pansies, the kind he’s seen her produce before. They don’t naturally grow anywhere on the grounds.

“Did you - what’s the word - druidcraft these, Keyleth?” 

She nods, attention focused on a yellow and purple flower. The colours remind Grog of Scanlan’s eccentric garb, though thankfully these flowers share none of the same aromas as Scanlan’s clothing. 

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want me to-” 

“I really- I don’t want to talk about it.” Keyleth’s tone is defiant as she deflects Grog.

She starts to get to her feet and Grog finds himself reaching out, locking one meaty hand around her wrist. 

“ _Grog._ ”

“I’m not letting go. I know you half-elf types, you like talking about your feelings.” Grog tries very hard to keep a serious face. “And if that’s what you need then I’ll listen.”

A strange look has overcome Keyleth’s face; a line forms between her eyebrows and she draws her mouth into a tight, twisted shape. It’s as though whatever it is that keeps the peace between her good, righteous half and her ferocious, battle hardened counter half has broken down. Grog recognises this expression at once. Keyleth has never worn it outside of combat.

“You want to help? Fight me.” 

He blinks. “What?”

But Keyleth is already pulling free of his grasp and moving away. She heads out onto an open section of the grounds and settles into a fighting stance, feet apart, fists up. Her staff is absent, probably up in her room. 

Grog sits shocked for another second and then his face is splitting into a grin. Jumping to his feet he bounds over to their makeshift arena in just a few steps. Ten knuckles pop as the Goliath gleefully looks down at the half-elf. This is a language he speaks.

“How’re we doing this?” he asks.

Keyleth sizes him up and takes a step back. “Hand-to-hand. Until one of us gives in.”

Grog’s smile widens. “I won’t give in.”

She yells then and charges him, her lithe form laughable in comparison to Grog’s own. Chuckling deeply, Grog sets off to meet her head on. He raises one fist, ready for a right hook. 

Keyleth’s form changes mid-run.

Realising all too late, Grog doesn’t have enough time to stop his punch colliding with a solid stone chest. The impact shockwaves through his nerves and up his arm even as Keyleth’s earth elemental form is ducking away and out of reach.

“Mother _bitch._ ” Grog cries, shaking out his hand. 

Pivoting, Grog narrows his eyes at the creature that looks nothing like his friend. A thought flashes into his mind: _It’s going to be like that, is it?_

He flies into a rage.

The next few minutes are a blur of punches traded and dodged, a series of moves carried out wordlessly. Grunts and bitten back cries of pain surface every few seconds but otherwise Grog and Keyleth exist in a vacuum of space and time that exists only to them.

Blood is dripping into one of Grog’s eyes from a punch that split skin but he grins even as he spits out half a chipped tooth. He dives forward and lunges at the earth elemental’s midsection, trying to tackle her. Surprisingly, Keyleth manages to keep on her feet. She grabs Grog’s arms and wrestles them to his side. Grog fights the grapple and snarls, all but foaming at the mouth. The earth elemental rears back.

The force with which their heads collide into a headbutt can only be described by the taste of iron and the feeling of pressure against Grog’s skull, even after the impact. There may have been a sound when they connected but it’s already gone from Grog’s mind, his thoughts – never lucid when raging – are trying to form around something. He’s aware of something; something other than the stone hands squeezing the life out of him. He looks up into the elemental’s face and it clicks. There’s blood all over the craggy face of Keyleth’s elemental form. There’s blood in Grog’s mouth, his throat. He’s bitten his tongue. A half-formed snarl gurgles out around the blood and before he can clear his airway enough to breath, Keyleth drops him. Grog stumbles back and spits again, feels a little blood trickle down his chin. He barely gets one good inhale before a solid fist socks him square in the jaw. Something snaps. 

“ _Keyleth!_ ” a voice, far far away cries out. 

They both ignore it. Grog’s only interest is in giving as good as he gets in this fight and so far he’s a few behind. Later he’ll tell himself that he was pulling his punches to be kind to his friend, but in the heat of battle this thought eludes him. Bloodied fists come up to guard his face and he jabs once, twice, feeling the sweet sensation of contact with stone ribs. The earth elemental gasps as though the air has been knocked out of it. Grog jabs again and this time he’s met with a dodge so fast that it causes him to overextend. 

Taking advantage of the opening, Keyleth grabs his forearm and executes a deft manoeuvre that results in Grog being slammed over her shoulder, onto the ground. Grog’s vision goes spotty as a low groan curls out of him. He can’t move. Can’t feel anything but the buzz of adrenaline in his body. His arms and legs aren’t responding.  
Above him, the earth elemental looms.

“ _KEYLETH!_ ” It’s Percy’s voice, Grog realises. He sounds panicked and still too far away. 

From his position on the ground Grog can’t see Percy’s approach, but he hears now the tell-tale sound of running footsteps. Watching as best he can with spotty vision and an eyeful of blood, Grog sees Keyleth hesitate. Her elemental form has little in the way of facial features and even if that weren’t the case Grog would still probably struggle to decipher her expression. 

She drops the form.

“What’s going on? What is this?” Percy demands, appearing behind Keyleth’s shoulder.

Grog takes in Keyleth’s normal form and has to remind himself that of course she doesn’t look as beaten up as he does, her elemental body protected her from that. Fucking magic. 

“Someone needs to start explaining,” Percy says.

Keyleth’s lip trembles. She doesn’t look at Percy. The tears are back and there’s no trace of the malice she contained just seconds ago. Lying there, Grog is torn between pitying her and holding a grudge. Neither strikes him as the best reaction.

“I’m so-” Keyleth’s voice breaks. 

Snapping her mouth shut, Keyleth turns and half-runs back into the keep. Percy seems dumbstruck as he looks between Grog and the door Keyleth just disappeared through. A second later he’s pulling out a glass vial and tipping its contents down Grog’s gullet. It mixes with the blood already filling his mouth but sure enough the healing potion gets to work and after a few seconds Grog can sit up and confirm his wounds have all closed up. He doesn’t get any further than that before Percy snaps.

“You’ve had my potion, now tell me what in the nine hells that was.” 

Grog glances up at Keyleth’s vacant bedroom window and sighs. 

“She wanted to fight. I found her crying out here but she wouldn’t tell me why.”

Percy’s eyes narrow. “So you decided to beat the crap out of each other instead?”

“Hey it was her idea!” Grog gets up and tries not to bristle under Percy’s glare. 

Stuffing the empty potion vial into a coat pocket, Percy pauses for a moment. He takes in the sight of drying blood on Grog’s skin and his expression softens.

“Today is the anniversary of her mother’s disappearance. The day she left for her AraMente.” Percy says.

Grog’s eyebrows rise. He doesn’t know what to say to that. Suddenly Keyleth’s breakdown makes a lot of sense. The pain of losing family is something that Grog can understand to an extent. In fact, all of Vox Machina has lost at least one family member in some way. Perhaps that’s why they function as well as they do together? A rag-tag bunch of misfits all looking for a semblance of stability in this dangerous world.

It’s not exactly a happy thought.

Instead of dwelling on it, he gestures for Percy to follow him back to the tree where he left his great axe. Percy does so. He stays quiet as Grog takes up his weapon in both hands, feeling the heft of it and adjusting his grip. At the edge of his peripheral vision, Grog notices the pansies Keyleth grew earlier with druidic magic. He wonders who taught her that trick.

“You two are close, right?” Grog asks finally.

Nodding, Percy puts his hands in his pockets. “She’s the closest thing to a sister that I have.”

Grog’s head bobs as he agrees with that. It feels strange to be on the same wavelength as Percy. He runs a thumb along the blunt edge of his great axe. The metal gleams in the midday sun and though Grog is itching to practise his swings, there’s something he needs to do first.

“Can I borrow a book?”

…

Later, Keyleth steps out of the one bathroom claimed by the ladies of the keep. Her hair is wet and loose down her back, her clammy skin covered by a wide towel. She tracks little droplets of water across the flagstone flooring on her way back to her room, having been in no mind to dry herself off properly. Pushing open the door to her room, Keyleth steps in and locks it behind her. Takes a deep breath. 

There’s something on her bed.

Her hands are up, readying a spell before she can realise it’s just a book (and a big one at that). Getting closer, she spots a scrap of paper on top of it. In Percy’s familiar, elegant calligraphy is a short message:

_Page 267 – from Grog_

A flare of guilt rises up in her chest even as she wonders what the goliath and gunslinger have been up to. She isn’t proud of how she left her impromptu fight with Grog. With any luck, she’ll be able to catch him before dinner and apologize to his face. For now though, she picks up the book and flips to the suggested page. 

Inside, tucked between pages on warfare tactics and strategy she finds the perfectly pressed head of a yellow and purple pansy. A wobbly smile works its way onto her face as she brings the book to her nose and sniffs the flower. It smells of summer afternoons, nectar cakes and – faintly – the old musk of the book itself. Closing the book, Keyleth pulls it tight to her chest. Grins. Lets the tears flow freely. 

Maybe she hasn’t lost as much as she’d thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this fic! It was nice to work on a fandom project again. I don't know if I'll be uploading anything else for the rest of Rarepair week, but we'll see! 
> 
> As always, you're more than welcome to come say hi to me on my tumblr! It's actualkatebishop.tumblr.com
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
